At the Close of the Last Race.
Three horses have started; the favourite has led to the turn and then bolted up the shingle, but, as the tide has come in and almost covered the course, and the other two horses by declining to face the water have let him in again, he wins after an exciting finish, up to the girths in sea-water; and such bookmakers as have succeeded in obtaining patronage are paying up with as much cheerfulness as they can command.
First Bookmaker (to eager backer). Wait a bit, my boy, wait a bit, the number hasn't gone up yet, my son. Where's your ticket—forty-two? (His clerk refers to book.) That's Squibbs. I pay over winners—not losers. (To the public.) Come along and fetch your money, the bullion's 'ere! (To another backer.) What was yours—threes? ("Fours I've got," from his clerk.) Why don't yer arst for what you're entitled to, instead o' makin' me arst my clurk what your bet was? There's your money—take it and go!
[The backer departs wealthier but abashed.
Second B. I'm payin' over that 'ard-run race, gentlemen, men and 'orses exhorsted! I'm payin' over Susan—dear ole Suseyhanner! who wants their money? The Bank o' England's 'ere, gentlemen, Mr. Frankie Fairprice and his ole friend, who's always by his side and never looses 'im!
Third B. (who has had to borrow largely from his brethren to meet his engagements). Are you all done now? (To the crowd.) Then I'll wish yer good afternoon, thank ye all for yer comp'ny, but you've bin bloomin' bad fun to-day, and you don't ketch me playin' Patience on a monument at any more o' yer blanky sand'oppin' 'andicaps, that's all!
[However, the local newspaper reports next day that "A number of the sporting fraternity were in attendance to do business, and apparently carried on a brisk and profitable trade"—which only shows how difficult it is for the casual observer to form an accurate opinion.